


diplomatic relations

by chameleonchanging



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars: The Clone Wars (2008) - All Media Types
Genre: M/M, senator au
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-09
Updated: 2020-05-09
Packaged: 2021-03-02 19:26:52
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,852
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24082033
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/chameleonchanging/pseuds/chameleonchanging
Summary: Senator Plo Koon of Dorin is on a diplomatic mission. In these dangerous times, it wouldn't do to go without protection, or so the Chancellor says, which is why the entire 104th Battalion gets assigned to watch him mediate peace talks.Their Commander seems nice, though. He wasn't expecting that.
Relationships: Plo Koon/CC-3636 | Wolffe
Comments: 13
Kudos: 160





	diplomatic relations

“It would be most shameful if something were to happen to you during these negotiations, Senator,” says the Chancellor. “Especially since you’re overseeing them on our behalf. I won’t think of it. You must accept protection.”

Plo resists the urge to roll his eyes. He’s at home; his face is uncovered. But oh, he would love to. “Chancellor, I am fully capable of looking after my own safety. My staff -”

“Are unfamiliar with the territory. These are dangerous times, Senator Koon.”

“I am aware,” Plo says. If he had teeth, they would be grinding. _May you trod on plastic children’s toys,_ he thinks sourly.

“It’s settled, then. I know just the men for the job. The 104th Wolfpack Battalion will join you for the duration.”

“The _what_ -? An entire battalion is excessive! Absolutely not.” He is a very private person by nature; the thought of having so many people around devoted to knowing where he is and what he is doing at all times is intolerable. Not to mention the stares and whispers that tend to follow his people wherever they go; it’s not a secret that most of the galaxy considers them unattractive at best. 

But the Chancellor has already signed off, his hologram winking out of existence. Plo starts a cycle of deep breathing. His sister the Sage swears it’s helpful. He thinks it’s banthashit.

* * *

Commander Wolffe, after whom the battalion is presumably named, is a stern approaching-middle-age man with a scar over the right side of his face. The cybernetic eye tracks Plo briefly before syncing with the Commander’s natural eye again; Plo pretends not to notice. 

“Senator Koon,” says the Commander, saluting and staring over Plo’s shoulder instead of at his masked face. “We’re to be your protection detail while you mediate discussions.” 

“Please call me Plo,” he says, offering a bow. “It will be a long week if we stand on formality the entire time. May I ask who else I have the honor of meeting?” 

The Commander introduces his personal squad - now Plo’s constant companions - and Plo bows to each of them in turn. “I do apologize to be the cause of this diversion. Please do tell me if there’s anything I can do to make this assignment easier on you; I am accustomed to coming and going as I please, but I understand changes will have to be made. We can discuss the details in the office.”

He leads the way through the hallways. “You’ll have full access to the ship, barring personal quarters, and an emergency override to my quarters should the need arise. My staff have been instructed to provide you with anything you require; there should be ship layouts and a preliminary intelligence report on our destination and relevant factions waiting for you. You are, of course, welcome to use the ship systems. Accounts can be set up with no difficulty.” 

“That is … very generous, sir,” says the Commander. “Thank you.” 

Plo shrugs. “Everyone starts somewhere. Let us say I am reasonably well acquainted with being on the other side of this arrangement, and how obstructive a client may be.” 

“You’re a soldier,” says the Commander with some surprise as they pause in front of Plo’s office while he keys in a code. Two of the men - Comet and Boost - take up positions at either side of the doorway. 

“Something like that, once upon a time,” says Plo. He stands aside so Sinker can clear the space and pick his spot on the inside of the door before entering, Commander Wolffe trailing behind him. “Please, have a seat. Now, how may I help you with your arrangements?”

* * *

The clone troopers are less of an imposition than Plo had expected them to be; they’re generally willing to allow Plo to have his freedom, even if they accompany him everywhere but the fresher and to bed. By the time they arrive at neutral ground, the shifts have been worked out and aside from Commander Wolffe’s presence as his shadow, things are almost normal. And even that isn’t altogether unenjoyable; the Commander has a dry wit and a general lack of tolerance for nonsense that aligns well with Plo’s own sense of humor. It’s like having someone to give voice to all the things he wishes he could say himself but can’t due to his position.

It doesn’t hurt that the Commander has had zero discernible thoughts whatsoever about his appearance. The few times they’ve made skin-to-skin contact, the Commander has been carefully, deliberately blank; clearly he’s done his research. It makes for a more cordial relationship, not being bombarded with opinions on things he can do nothing about. Every morning, he waits for Plo at the door to his quarters and escorts him to breakfast before proceeding to the conference hall. A half day of discussions later, they go to lunch, which Plo picks his way through around his mask while the Commander watches, and then back to negotiating. Afterwards, he brings Plo back to his quarters with a reminder to call if he wants to go anywhere, declines to join Plo for any kind of refreshment, and disappears to wherever he goes when Plo isn’t in public. 

Plo wonders if he ever eats. He has to; he’s not a droid. But unless he’s downing 4500 calories in one sitting after shift, he needs food during the day and he isn’t getting it. The rest of the men switch out at least; Wolffe is never out of reach. The most he’s ever managed to get the man to accept is a mug of unadulterated caf. It can’t be healthy. Not, of course, that it’s any of Plo’s business. 

Still.

The end of the week comes sooner than Plo expects with everything running so smoothly; so of course, the Separatists choose to attack on the last day. The explosion throws the room into chaos, smoke and fire spreading from the blast. Wolffe pulls him into his chest, curling around him even as he draws his pistols, snapping orders at his men. Plo makes himself as small as possible, trying to keep out of the way. 

After the first brief exchange with the droids, Wolffe shuffles them both towards Comet, who’s already radioed out for help in case the smoke wasn’t enough to tip someone off. “We were this close,” he complains, throwing a charge pack at Boost. 

“I know,” Plo mumbles. “I’d so wanted to tell the Chancellor I-told-you-so.”

“That eager to be rid of us?” Wolffe asks, eyebrow raised.

“Not you in particular, Commander,” Plo says, though Wolffe’s grin says he’s only teasing. “Just perhaps the rest of your battalion. Which I maintain is overkill for one unimportant expansion region senator.”

“Bet you’re glad we’re around now, though,” says Comet, whose informality endeared him to Plo on day one.

“I can’t dispute that,” Plo says. He ducks as more blaster fire strikes their cover. 

“We only have to make it -”

“ETA ten minutes,” Comet supplies.

“-until extraction,” says Wolffe. “Keep your head down and things will be fine.”

Plo nods and throws his arms around his head, wishing he’d brought a sound dampener. 

“Be ready to move,” Wolffe orders. Boost lays down cover fire for them as they run for the door, Comet ahead and Sinker behind, and Wolffe at his side. They’ve almost made it out when a second blast throws them into a wall. Plo gasps weakly, rolling onto his side, the world spinning. Wolffe has already climbed to his feet and is fighting a droid, his movements wild and uncontrolled; blood trickles from the side of his head. He misses a blow, staggers, and the droid catches him by the neck, lifting him into the air. Wolffe chokes, scrabbling at the droid’s arm for leverage, kicking to no avail, dying. 

That cannot be allowed to happen. Plo grasps around for a weapon. Anything. All there is is drywall and rubble. He focuses on a shard of stone. Reaches. The shard remains just out of reach. It can’t be. It _won’t_ be. He clenches his jaw. 

The shard launches into the air, rocketing past Wolffe and into the droid’s head. Wolffe drops to the ground and kicks it away as it begins sparking. He staggers over to Plo and drops to his knees beside him. 

“What,” he gasps,” was that?”

“Learned it from my sister,” says Plo, right before he passes out.

* * *

By the time Plo recovers from his Force-exhaustion, cleanup is well underway and they are halfway back to Coruscant. When he steps out of his quarters, Wolffe is one of the men standing guard at the door. Wolffe salutes, and Plo dips his head. They walk to the mess in companionable silence Plo makes a cup of tea and a mug of caf and collects an assortment of fruit and pastry. 

“Would you join me?” he asks, taking a seat in the booth. Wolffe studies him, a new curiosity in his eyes, and then acquiesces. He sits stiffly, picture perfect for an army etiquette guide. 

“It’s been an eventful end to the week,” Plo says. “I’d wanted to thank you for your protection.”

“Just doing our job, Senator,” says Wolffe. He doesn’t sound, strictly speaking, as though that was the only thing he had been doing.

“Nevertheless, a job well done deserves recognition,” says Plo. He nudges the plate closer to Wolffe. “Please don’t feel like you have to stand on formality with me. You’ve seen how I am with my staff.”

Wolffe hesitates a moment and then caves, selecting a cluster of berries. Plo smiles. “I hope this diversion hasn’t cut into your original plans, Commander.”

“No. Just shifted back a week. If I may, sir, I had a question.” He studies Plo. “At the hall. You used the Force?”

“I did.”

“But you’re not a Jedi.”

“I am not.” He chuckles. “My family is frequently gifted with these abilities. Mine are not so prominent that my parents felt they could not handle me, and I was rather fascinated with systems as a child. When the Master Jedi asked if I wished to be trained, I declined in favor of continuing my studies at home. And so, here we are.” He spreads his hands.

“Here we are,” Wolffe echoes. “I should be thanking you for saving my life.”

“I could hardly do otherwise when I had the ability to help. And if I’m entirely honest, I’ve become rather fond of you in the last week,” Plo says. Wolffe’s eyes linger on him. He decides to take the chance. “Please feel free to refuse, but might I ask for the honor of your company at dinner?”

Wolffe’s lips twitch. “I am afraid I must decline, Senator,” he says. Plo lets out a self-depreciating puff. “However - I’m off-duty once I’ve reported in on Coruscant, and I have no plans other than to kill time with paperwork in an office. You might have better luck then.”

“I see,” says Plo. “Please do eat, Commander. I’m not at all collecting information on your preferences.”

Wolffe smiles and pops a berry into his mouth.


End file.
